


Natural Dualities

by eclipse_incarnate



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Kinda, M/M, Opposites Attract
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 07:53:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1337806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eclipse_incarnate/pseuds/eclipse_incarnate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He glanced down his wrist, his focus on his tattoo. It’s been more than a year since he got the mark on his skin. He remembered how the ink was permanently drawn onto his dark complexion, the design darker, visibly captivating than the rest of his skin. He was with his best friend, Niall, that day.</i>
</p><p>Zayn and Niall have matching tattoos. Nothing more to say it, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Natural Dualities

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes! The original idea for this fic was totally different, but it's too ambitious, and I don't want to create a new universe and stuff. I wrote this because I'm procrastinating and having troubles writing something (which was ambitious, but, yeah). So, here we are.
> 
> Also thank you for [Megan](http://www.zavnhoran.tumblr.com) for helping me correct some errors.

The sun began to set down the horizon; the orange hue splashed magnificently in the sky. Zayn averted his eyes from the window, taking a deep breath, exhaling his exhaust. From the hours of studying for the last day of his exams, his eyelids wanted to shut, but he didn’t dare to.

He eyed the clock longingly, the long hand was on the six, and the short on the twelve. He palmed his eyes, trying to eliminate the drowsiness caused by relearning all his notes. The lines and lines of information were making his brain dry out by the second. If he read one, more stuff, he thought his brain would explode.

He glanced down his wrist, his focus on his tattoo. It’s been more than a year since he got the mark on his skin. He remembered how the ink was permanently drawn onto his dark complexion, the design darker, visibly captivating than the rest of his skin. He was with his best friend, Niall, that day.

He rubbed his thumb over it, his skin grazing over the promise of the design. He was too tired to reminisce over the whole moment, but he smiled nonetheless as his mind caught a glimpse of the memory—the meaning behind it.

He scrapped his earlier thought, and came into a decision: take a rest, sleep in his tiredness, and reboot his energy. He pushed his body off the chair, and slumped down his bed. The soft solid was comforting to his back. He hadn’t known it ached and needed the support of the mattress over the hours. He looked at his ceiling first, loving the sensation of his cozy bed. Not in a long while, he went into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

He jolted off his sleep, groaning surprised by the loud noise—a thud from his bedroom door. He checked back at the clock on his wall, and found out it was almost half-past ten. He grunted lowly when a series of knocks arrived. With an irritated mumble—knowing who it was already—he set off to the source and whipped it open.

“Niall,” Zayn complained as he squinted between his dull eyes due to his previous nap. He saw the boy brought his hand down—Zayn guessed Niall was about to smack his fist when he opened the door—and smiled, jiggling the plastic bag on his other hand.

“I got Chinese take-out.” Niall wiggled his eyebrows, still grinning as he lifted the bag of food close to his chest. “You wanna eat or not?”

“Come in.” Zayn fake groaned, and gave way to his room, but Niall went the other way.

Confusion was plastered on Zayn’s face, and the other boy shouted. “We have a television for something.”

With the weariness of his disturbed sleep drifting off, and the waves of energy coming back, he sauntered into the living room with an annoyed—but endeared—smile.

* * *

“Why do we even have a dinner table when we always eat in front of the TV?” Zayn asked out of the blue. They both viewed the table, completely unused, and then turned back to the television.

The TV was playing Iron Man 2 on HBO—luckily they didn’t miss much of the first half. The part of the movie was the scene when Senator Stern wanted Tony Stark to give up his suit. Niall threw in a dumpling down his mouth. “Dinner table _is_ only to be used when we have guests.”

“Yeah, but the only _guests_ we ever invite are the other three—and still, we still eat in front of the TV.” Zayn emphasized on ‘guests’. He then bit down on an egg roll. “Louis, Liam, and Harry don’t even act like guests.”

“Yeah, that’s why we don’t use it.” Niall laughed. Zayn flipped him off with a roll of his eyes, and spooned some fried rice off the box. He didn’t really like the use of chopsticks, and found them difficult, too.

“’Have been revising over my notes all day.” Zayn mentioned to create a new subject of interest after a few minutes. The film went to Tony and Pepper arguing. Niall picked up a roll, and bit a piece into his mouth.

“This is such hell. I haven’t even had one pint all week—two weeks.” Niall spoke as he finished diminishing the rest of the meat in his mouth. “Forgot the time, too—forgot to eat!” He downed the rest of the piece of egg roll. “But at least some of us had slept…”

“Hey,” Zayn commented, putting the box on the coffee table. “I was fucking tired. I needed that nap. Besides, that means I’ll have to study all night.”

“I still have to study, arsehole.” Niall stated as he playfully punched Zayn on the arm. Zayn massaged the area where he was hit even though it didn’t quite hurt him. The other boy winked, and then. “But not all night.”

“Wanker.” Zayn grinned, and drank a glass of water off the table. He heard Niall snort after the comment, and turned the television off just as the moment when Natalie Rushman (Natasha Romanoff was her real name in the film, Zayn knew his Marvel facts!) came in the scene. He was a little bummed about missing the rest of the movie.

“C’mon,” Niall compiled all the emptied boxes and Styrofoam containers. “Let’s go to your room.”

* * *

“So, we were in here earlier, then went to the living room to eat, then came back here.” Zayn pointed out as they padded onwards to his bedroom. “Logic.”

Niall just chortled.

The door was ajar, and Zayn swayed it open as he entered the room. The walls were blue and bare, unlike his childhood room—still taped with superhero posters as well as a few action figures. He walked towards his bed, and sat while Niall was on the chair near the desk.

There was a comfortable silence that ambled through the air. Zayn played with his hands along the quietness. Niall was tapping his foot, rhythm nameless, as he wandered his eyes all over his room. Zayn was watching him as he continued moving his own fingers.

“Why did you wanna go to my room when you—and I—still have to study?” Zayn said to cut through the peace and quiet. It was nice, but it was also bugging him.

“Remember when we got the tattoos?” Niall asked all of a sudden, totally ignoring Zayn’s own question, and Zayn was curling his lips upward because, yeah, he remembered.

 

It was almost two years ago, it was sophomore year. They were at their flat in which they just moved in; smoking weed, and drinking good beer. Zayn had inhaled another hit, the smoke burning his lungs wonderfully. He had felt as though shards of crystals were bursting inside his veins as the THC course through his body. It was euphoric.

He had shifted his head to the side and found Niall, grinning at him, braces noticeable, blond hair covering a portion of his forehead. They’d been both lying on the cold floor. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Zayn had repeated as he copied the expression on Niall’s face. They stared for a few moments, seconds lingering like minutes, and then hours, and it seemed like an eternity. But it wasn’t an eternity—it wasn’t long—because Harry’s nonsense babbling over fruits had filled the air, breaking the reverie of their focus on one another. Niall had stirred his head over the source of the noise, laughing, and then standing up, running towards Harry in a lurching fashion. They had wrestled ungracefully, not really fighting each other off. Louis had stood as referee, and Liam had been chanting undecidedly.

Zayn had turned his head up, looking at the ceiling, feeling the slight numbness filling his mind and body, and just smiling. He had such a bunch of idiotic friends, but he loved them as though they were family—and he loved his family a lot.

And then Niall had crashed over Zayn’s stomach, breaking his thoughts. Niall had grinned at him again, beaming as though he was the sun, and Zayn was the moon because Niall’s smile was just so incredibly infectious he couldn’t deny his lips to smile back—like how the sun lit the space up, radiating the moon up, and caused it to reflect its light.

“Hey,” Niall had said, and paused for a moment, waiting for Zayn to respond the same.

“Hey.” Zayn had mimicked, ruffling Niall’s hair with his free hand, then caressing his hand on the boy’s back, and then down to his arm, coming to a slow pace. The small roll of paper—which had weed, now empty—that was dangling on Zayn’s fingers was settled onto an ashtray, abandoning it completely. Niall had giggled, and then looked at Zayn with a twinkle in his eye.

“Can you get me another beer from the fridge?” Niall had requested with a failed seriousness on his face. Zayn shoved Niall off him, trying to pass it as if he was annoyed, but he got up from his uncomfortable spot on the floor, walking off to get Niall’s beer.

He had come back with two; one for him and one for the other boy. Niall was sitting up straight now, using the tiles as a seat, and the front frame of the couch for support. Zayn had sat next to him, handing him the bottle of beer, and their fingers brushed.

“So, I was thinking…” Niall had started, staring on the other three. Zayn had followed his gaze, and saw Louis ruffling Harry’s hair, whispering hushes he couldn’t reach to actually hear. Liam was holding a bottle of beer, too, and then had started to tell a story to the other two while he sat on the chair. Louis had lightly inclined his head to Liam as to notify him he was listening. Harry had his eyes closed, but he was being attentive. “I want _us_ to get tattoos.”

“What?” Zayn had whipped his head so fast he felt dizzy. He wasn’t sure if Niall had said was correct or believable because getting a tattoo was an option Niall had minded off multiple times.

“I want us to get a tattoo. Just us. Like matching ones.” Niall had stated. He had drunk down the alcohol, his lips puckered onto the mouth of the bottle.

“Why?” Zayn had asked, still soaking all of Niall’s words.

“Because I want a tattoo. But I want my first to be something meaningful.” Niall had explained with ease as though he had been going through the thought of getting a tattoo lately—he probably had. “I know I’ve joked about getting a stamp on my arse cheeks that says ‘Made In Ireland’,” He had laughed as he paused, taking another swig of his beer. “But what I really want was something else—hence, this idea to get matching ones. You’ve been my best friend for god knows how long, too. And I think it’d be nice to get my first like this.”

Overwhelmed by this revelation, Zayn had gulped down his own beer laboriously. The numb feeling from the weed he had taken had slightly started to reside, a surging energy taking over. Niall having a tattoo was something Zayn had imagined before. He had envisioned how the blackness of the ink would look captivating over Niall’s own pale skin, how the black would outshine the overall white. Niall’s skin was like a blank canvas, waiting to be drawn with a contrasting shade. He had grasped Niall’s wrist; the comparison of their complexions was already striking—let alone black ink.

“You sure about this?” Zayn asked, sincere, and a bit of excitement in his voice and expression.

“Yeah.”

 

“Yeah, I remember you wanting to get matching ones.” Zayn remarked. He stopped moving his hands, now just sitting on his lap. He turned his wrist over, intently studying the design on the area. The half of the matching tattoos was marked over his skin. He lifted it to show the tattoo to Niall, and the boy did the same—with the other half permanently etched on his pale skin.

“And here we are now.” Niall declared, bringing his wrist up near his eyes as if the mark on his skin was a symbol of freedom, but the difference was that Zayn didn’t feel exactly _free_ with it—he felt a sense of commitment. He felt as though the tattoo was an emblem of their depending friendship, the sign of their everlasting care for one another, never leaving each other because just as Harry had mentioned—Zayn and Niall were opposites, but they fit together nicely.

 

After Niall had revealed to Zayn he wanted to get matching tattoos with him, Louis had practically yelled in their ears. “You want to get matching tattoos?”

Both boys had spun their heads over, and saw Louis hunching—actually kind of slanting—over the back of the sofa, palms of his hands on the cushions for support. He was grinning, amused for obvious reasons.

“So?” The brunet had gone on because they were still, too surprised by his appearance. Zayn had tilted his head to the side where the three were before, and he saw the other two brunets near them, with the same waiting gaze.

“Uh,” Zayn could have only utter, really didn’t know if he should say something, or let Niall explain. Coincidentally, Niall had blinked his eyes, and spoke up.

“’Said I want to get matching tattoos with Zayn.” Niall had muttered, a sheepish smile on his face. Louis had pushed himself off his position, and placed himself upright on the sofa cushions, hands dangling on his sides.

“What’ll you get?” Louis had questioned, eyebrows furrowed a little.

Niall had smiled a little more, and then looked at Zayn with an almost shy expression before turning to Louis. “I don’t know yet to be honest. Never really thought about what tattoos.”

“Matching ones, huh?” Harry had jumped in the conversation, treading towards the armrest of the sofa, seating himself there, elbow propped on the padded back railing. Liam had done the same, hand still occupied with a bottle of beer, almost empty.

“What about bananas?” Harry had said, cheekily. They all had given him baffling looks. Sometimes Zayn didn’t know what went on the inside of Harry’s brain. “You know… to represent your man junk.”

“Oh, god.” Louis had pushed Harry off the couch. Harry had toppled over the bowl of weed on the floor, spilling it. “You give us weird ideas, and now you spoiled good weed. Thanks, Harry.”

“Don’t,” Harry had gotten off the floor. “Mention,” He had wiped off the dirt, and weed—such good weed, Zayn had thought—off his shirtless body and skinny jeans. He then had glared at Louis. “It.”

Louis had given him a sly grin before going back to both Zayn and Niall. “Any other not-so-ridiculous ideas?”

“What about words?” Liam had suggested.

“Nah,” Louis had waved him off. “Too cheesy and common.”

Liam had frowned at that because he himself had some words tattooed on his forearm. Zayn kind of had felt sorry for him.

“I have another one.” Harry finally had gotten to them. He must have cleaned up the mess he made with the weed although he had noticed he just put it altogether at the bowl again.

“For the love of god, Harry, if you suggests to them to get strawberries to represent their man nipples. I swear to—“

“—No, it’s not about fruits,” Harry had interjected, and Louis quirked his eyebrows, and the dimples of Harry’s had gotten deeper. “Or man things.”

“Fine,” Louis crossed his arms. “Let’s hear it.”

Harry happily had sat next to Louis on the couch. His dimples were really deep. “What about a Yin-Yang?”

Louis had lowered his chin to Harry, gesturing for him to go on. Zayn was sure he had heard Liam mumble as he took a drink off his beer. “Talk about cheesy and common.”

“You know,” Harry had given more space between him and Louis, hands close to his face. And then, he had faced Zayn with a troubled look. “Zayn could you say about the yin and yang again, I don’t remember much. But I know it has something to do with opposites getting along or something—which you and Niall are.”

All eyes were on Zayn, and the boy was suddenly the center of attention. Zayn had felt a rising heat all over his body, and it hadn’t been from all the alcohol he had consumed.

“Well,” Zayn had begun, but because of his buzzing feeling due to the beers he drank, and the weed he inhaled in the space of god knows how many hours, his mind wasn’t as focused to think. So to solve this dilemma, he had fished out his phone from his pocket, and used _Google_ to research the yin and yang.

He was sure that the other boys were giving him some looks, but he could feel the stare Niall was giving him the most. He had glanced up for a second, and saw Niall’s blue eyes. He had smiled at him. And then, Zayn had gone back to his phone as the page finished loading. “Here it is.”

“In Chinese culture, Yin and Yang represent the two opposite principles in nature. Yin and yang are in pairs, such as the moon and the sun, dark and bright, female and male—” (“Zayn and Niall aren’t exactly _that_.” Harry had commented.) “—Cold and hot, passive and active, etc. But yin and yang are not static or just two separated things. The nature of yin-yang lies in interchange and interplay of the two components.”

He had gazed up on the people in the room, still noiseless, except for the few gulps of alcohol from Niall. He had decided to skip the other two next paragraphs and had continued on the last one.

“Here is a summary of the characteristics of yin-yang. Yin and yang are opposite in nature, but they are part of nature, they rely on each other, and they can't exist without each other. The balance of yin and yang is important. If yin is stronger, yang will be weaker, and vice versa. Yin and yang can interchange under certain conditions so they are usually not yin and yang alone. In other words, yin can contain certain part of yang and yang can have some component of yin. It is believed that yin-yang exists in everything.”

The quiescence that waved over had engulfed him as if it were a body of water because it was sort of scary, and surprising, and he felt drowning down into the silence. Zayn had known he couldn’t swim, but he’s not in the ocean, or in a pool—he was in the presence of his four greatest friends—so he spoke up. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Yin and yang, huh?” Louis had grinned mischievously, grabbing both Zayn and Niall’s wrists—wrists which were eventually used as the tattoos’ spots—which startled them both. “Come on. Let’s get those matching tattoos.”

 

“Well, I better go then. Have  _lots_  more to study.” Niall rose from his seat, and Zayn was kind of disappointed for the fact Niall had to leave. He loved Niall’s presence. He could recall the times where Niall had warmed him up on chilly mornings and cold nights—how his body represented a walking heater, his warm aura and spirit melted him completely into reviving him back to life—not only in a metaphorical sense, but realistically as well.

He could think of the time when Zayn had broken up with his long-time girlfriend, Perrie, which broke him. He had wanted it to be over, for being with her didn’t feel right anymore. Niall came into the rescue as he would always be Zayn’s best friend. He nurtured him back to his mental wellness—into a better man. He also remembered those times Niall had encouraged him to speak up, or do what he wanted to do on certain times and occasions.

There were also times Niall needed Zayn’s support and help. Zayn had guided Niall through getting the first year of college when the blond boy had lacked the desire to continue. Zayn understood Niall’s gibberish over football, and the ‘system’, and missing Ireland. And even though some of Niall’s jokes weren’t as funny as they seemed to be, Zayn would laugh because it  _was_ funny to him because Niall laughed at his own jokes, and enjoyed them. It was just a natural habit for Zayn to laugh, and enjoy them, too—and he’d see Niall smile at him, grateful.

Niall had been there for so many things Zayn couldn’t bear to do himself—and vice versa. And he realized at that moment that they  _were_  yin and yang—they did rely on each other, and cared and encouraged for each other. Their balance was important.

And then, Niall closed the door, and Zayn assumed he was going to his room now. Zayn thought at that moment what if Niall just left, and never came back. He couldn’t stand the thought of it—the thought of Niall abandoning him after what they’ve been through, and the promises to care for one another as Niall quoted it: “We’ve been there for each other through thick and thin. We’ve always been there for each other. And I’m always gonna be there, Zayn.”

The words conquered him in an instant because those were the things Niall had said when they both had gotten the tattoos. Speaking of tattoos, there were also the permanent, analogous designs on their wrists.

* * *

Zayn had just gotten off his last exam of the semester. He was about to text Niall when a popped up notification landed on his screen, telling him Niall messaged him.

He swiped open the lock screen and was directed to Niall’s text as it read:

_hey , since its your last test and mine.  How about you get your late lunch here at our flat? I have chicken pizza ;)_

Zayn confirmed to go, not really up to eating anywhere else—besides, it’s chicken pizza. So without any longer, he pocketed his phone as he peregrinated off to their flat, fastening his messenger bag on his shoulder as he did so.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, he entered through the apartment, and viewed Niall talking on the phone in muffled whispers, and he appeared to be in a hurry to end the call. He smiled embarrassedly as he put his phone down on the coffee table, and took a seat down the sofa. He patted the next available space, beckoning him to settle next to him.

“I only ate one while waiting.” Niall beamed. Zayn sat down the couch, and flipped the pizza box open, and noticed that’s too big of a fraction for a one-twelfth sliced pizza.

When he took a piece, he sat back down, and looked at Niall with accusing eyebrows. At that, Niall said as he reached for a slice himself. “Fine, I ate two.”

* * *

Niall took out two beers from the fridge as they ate. They also complained and talked about this week, too, how hard it was, and what a hell of a week it was. It was nice to relax, and catch up with each other after not mostly seeing each other a lot considering they live together in one roof.

After a while, Niall called for Zayn as he shifted to face him. “Hey, Zayn.”

“Hey.” Zayn said, and that word only brought so many memories because that word was said in most of their serious conversations. It was a simple word, but it had lots of things behind it—like how the meaning behind the tattoos of theirs were powerful, and he thought for a moment that even without the tattoos, their bond will always be strong and glued.

“Not seeing you so much this week made me think of how we are—how we are friends, and stuff.” Zayn didn’t know where Niall was going on, but he bent his head to assure him to go on and he was listening with intent.

“Yeah, and well…” Niall managed to say. He was struggling to keep on because Zayn knew when Niall couldn’t find the right words to say: he’d scratch his nose—and that was what he did, he scratched his nose, and wrinkled it, too. A timid smile also formed on his lips. It meant he’s serious.

Zayn stretched a hand—the hand where the tattoo rested—on Niall’s face, cupping his cheek as if it was water. It was gentle, and with the gentility of his touch made Niall relax, shoulders unstiffening, like how the ocean was when the open wind calmed down after a storm.

“Can I just show it? I’m not good with words—you know I’m not.” Niall mumbled as he gazed at Zayn with his blue eyes—eyes which had flecks of golds and greens and grays. Zayn just nodded.

It’s not even surprising, or startling, but it was jolting when Niall caved his hand over Zayn’s cheek, closed his eyes, and pressed the warmness of his lips onto him, latching it with taste of beer and grease. He felt tiny sparks combusting throughout his body, killing his senses, and bringing him into a state of bliss.

Niall went on deeper, catching his lips by the second, and Zayn could only follow, making the boy lead. His hands grabbed Niall's waist lightly, pushing himself further in, locking out the space between them. Niall then laid them down, Zayn underneath him. He could smell the faint aftershave Niall was wearing. Zayn made a grunted noise at the back of his throat when Niall caught a hold on the back of his hair, clawing through the flicks of his black hair.

Zayn just went on his sides because he liked them, how greater they are compared to his own tinier one. Zayn counted all the differences and similarities between the both of them: build, complexion, eyes, nationality, color of hair, attitude towards people, personality, and a bunch of stuff he couldn’t keep up with because Niall’s tongue was exploring the inside of his mouth.

He hitched his breath at that, feeling controlled by Niall’s movements. The blond boy went for the slenderness of his body, marvelling through it as though it was fragile, but there were tight grips like he knew how to hold them—how to not damage them. The softness and roughness of his caress and hold made Zayn travel his hands through the blond locks of the boy, and then down to his neck, and back, dull fingernails lightly clawing.

They stumbled down the couch as they feel each other’s lips and bodies, almost knocking the coffee table which was only a few feet away from the sofa.

It seemed a lifetime of moments passed by as they hold each other’s lips with their own, continuingly feeling each other’s tastes and feel. Each brush of their lips appeared endless, like their love and care for one another, the mountains of contained restriction released in each captured touch. Zayn had wanted this—wanted it before, and for Niall’s actions, he did, too. He didn’t want it to ever end, but Niall pushed back, rolling over to the side next to the legs of the table. He turned to him, and his eyes were dilated, cheeks flushed, lips wet, and hair dishelved.

“Did you get what I’m trying to say?” Niall asked after catching their breaths, smiling a little, and then bit his lips in anticipation as they look at each other. Zayn was now the one who was speechless, unable to utter a single word. He eyed the ceiling longingly. He could recount those scenarios in novels he had read where two people kiss, and he’d imagined how it would be in real life with someone he cared about. And now he had done it with Niall.

He didn’t know if he should kiss him again as a response, or just tell him something, or just give him a nod of the head. He’d gotten what he was trying to deliver, but he didn’t know how to reply.

“Hey,” Niall then spoke, making Zayn look at him, and see the blue of his eyes. The moment was similar to the time when they were smoking good weed and drinking beer in that very spot.

“Hey.” Zayn managed to reply, and it felt easier to talk now. The blond boy’s eyebrows just went up while he bowed his head slightly, gesturing for Zayn to answer his question.

“I don’t know. I—“ Zayn stammered. “Why now? Why just now?”

“I was worried—“

“—Me too.”

“You are?” Niall moved to face him, elbow bent on the floor, eyes puzzled. “But you’re— You have a magnificent face, Zayn. You could practically get anyone.”

Zayn sighed, long and deep, because that was a ridiculous statement. There are more important things to consider than someone’s looks. He’d get complimented by his friends, family, and sometimes strangers for what they see outside him, but Niall had the bigger personality, had the charisma and confidence that people would find attractive. Beauty and attractiveness were different, so different.

“Niall,” Zayn copied Niall’s position. He observed the yang tattoo on Niall’s wrist near his head. “You— You are you. You’re friends with everyone. You  _attract_ people. A lot of people love you. And I think that’s another comparison between us. You’re friends with a lot of people. I only am with only a few.”

“Zayn,” Niall sat up Indian style, and Zayn did the same, back on the sofa. “I may be friends with a lot of people, but I only care about a few, and you’re the first of all the people I care about. Remember what I said: ‘We’ve been there for each other through thick and thin. We’ve always been there for each other… And I’m always gonna be there, Zayn’.

“And I meant that, and I remember that day. These tattoos,” Niall grasped Zayn’s wrist, and connected it with him—connecting those two parts of the yin-yang, making them yin and yang. “These tattoos symbolize that. And even without these matching pair, I think you know it, know that you are my yang, and you are my yin, and in every yin there is a yang inside them. Zayn,” He paused, taking a deep breath, smiling. “You make me smile, and happy, and feel needed, and that should be the yang’s job, but we give and take about it. And I thank you for that.”

Zayn couldn’t process all the words properly, too overwhelmed by the flooding emotions running in the room.

“Did you  _really_  study last night?” Zayn could only say, and laughed about it. Niall was now chuckling, shaking his head as he did so.

“No, I finished my exams that day already.” He grinned.

“So, the speech was rehearsed?” Zayn leered at him, joking. “I see.”

“You got me.” Niall raised his hands, admitting defeat, laughing. "No, it wasn't. But I did think about it... all night."

“You’re an idiot.” Zayn smiled fondly, and then went for Niall’s hand. He looked at it, viewed the curve of the tattoo on his wrist, and skimmed over it.

“No, I’m your yang.” Niall replied, laugh low. Zayn linked both their fingers, wrist tattoos on each other.

“And I’m your yin.”

Zayn attached his lips on Niall one more time, smiling, hands still secured like the balance of yin and yang. They were yin and yang; they were interconnected and interdependent with each other. And the idea of interdependency was scary, but it’s just how they were since forever, how their lives interrelated to one another. And maybe that interrelationship grew stronger as time passed by, for both of them. They represent the natural dualities of the yin-yang concept with their looks, traits, and their frame of mind on each other alone.

They were yin and yang.

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh. I wasn't really sure about posting this, but if you enjoyed it YAY!


End file.
